


Twenty-five Minutes

by orphan_account



Category: 2020 NYC Writing Contest, Original Work
Genre: #ShortStoryChallenge2020, Dark, Murder, Short Story, Thriller, original short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Henry Aaronson had lived a perfect life, and that was the problem. A ticking clock, a strangely knowledgeable salesman and a deadly secret that would bring his perfect world crashing down coagulated into one hell of a day.
Kudos: 1





	Twenty-five Minutes

The clock ticked mutely in Henry’s ears as he paced the recently bloodied floor. Twenty-five minutes, the voice had said. Wait for twenty-five long minutes and I’ll help you clean this mess up. Henry Aaronson would be a free man. 

The house was silent, saved for frantic breathing, erratic pacing. The weight of his sins hung heavy on his shoulders and Henry shut his eyes, shaking his head as memories, moments ago crashed over him like a wave. The steady drip, drip, drip of the blood falling to the once-spotlessly cleaned floor. 

A knock at the door, sudden and sharp, had Henry falter in his tracks, his heart skip a beat. God, could it be him? What if someone had heard? What if he hadn’t done it correctly, what if she wasn’t – “Coming!” His shaky hand hesitated over the knob. He closed his eyes, and opened.

Standing on his stoop was a clean-cut man; sharply pressed suit, trimmed black hair and piercing blue eyes. He stood and watched as Henry pulled the door open with more force than necessary. He was watching him – no, seeing him. Henry felt naked under his gaze, as if he were a piece of fragile glass, seconds from shattering. This man could see through him, see the blood on his shoes, and smell it in the air, Henry could feel it.

Twenty-two minutes to go. Henry breathed in shakily and forced a smile, resting his hands on his jeans. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I think I can help you, sir.” The man smiled a small, knowing smile – Henry shifted anxiously where he stood. “Pierce, Isaiah Pierce, and I have just what you need.”

Suspicion coursed through Henry, sudden and as cold as a drug. “W-what?”

“I represent Sable Saviors, here to make your life easier,” he said with a bow. Isaiah Pierce was an intimidating man; not in the way he seemed at all violent, he carried himself with a certain grace, poise – but in the way an air of unease followed him like a shadow, his bright eyes a little too bright, smile a little too wide. The way he knew a person unlike they knew themselves. “May I come inside?”

Henry gaped at him, too long, and Isaiah’s eyebrow rose. Twenty minutes. No, no, no--! He could not come inside, the blood – God, Marian -- “No, yes, uh – of course.” 

Henry wasn’t a people person at the best of times. People were confusing, puzzles he could never figure out in a world he didn’t understand. He remained staring, his heart thudding in his ears, a dull roar over the sound of Pierce’s voice. He watched the way the man took in the room, slowly, scrutinizing the too-large space: the clean hardwood floor, dented egg-shell walls, the hole behind the doorknob and the smell of cleaner; a desperate attempt to mask the reek of death. 

“All right, so.” Henry clapped his hands together. “What’ve you got for me, Mr. Pierce? Let’s, uh, make this snappy.”

“Listen, I’m not here to steal your money, or sell you some bullshit that’ll work for two months and break before your can get your money’s worth. What I’ve got is much better than that. You see, sir,” he said as he sat, “I’m selling ideas.”

Nineteen minutes, and Henry swallowed his anxiety, then sat across from the salesman. “Can you, uh, elaborate on that?” He ran his hands along his jeans. What was this man doing here? He checked the microwave clock, God, only eighteen minutes, what if he was still here when they arrived? 

“Ideas, a plausible suggestion to a course of action, formed in one’s mind. Ideas can be bought, stolen, sold – as long as they take hold. When I look at you, sir, I see a desperate man who wants to make a change in his life. So are you willing to hear me out? I can sell you exactly what you need.”

Henry twisted his face to a form of mild interest, the words barely registering. Nodding carelessly, he sat stealing glances at the clock every few seconds. “All right, shoot.”

Pierce smiled. Seventeen minutes. “I’ll only take a little bit of time out of your day.” His eyes raked over his face, silent, knowing. “Mister… Aaronson, was it? Of course. Now when I look at you I see – “

‘You said a desperate man.” Henry locked eyes, heart skipping a beat. Only seventeen minutes. He fought the urge to get up and check on Marian, fidgeting in his seat. Pierce tilted his head. 

“Exactly. Desperate for change, aren’t you? I can tell.”

“What are you talking about?” His stomach dropped, God, he knew – 

“Sir, I deal with people all the time, and more or less they all give off the same energy – not you, sir.” Pierce gave him a leveled gaze. Henry struggled to sit still, tried to reassure himself that he didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly know. A simple salesman – surely not. Simple, ordinary-looking, but there was something about him. 

Things had not gone to plan, problems arose that Henry would’ve never imagined in more ways than one. This man was one of them.

“The idea is simple, sir: have you ever wanted to create a big change in your life? Something so impressive, so earth-shattering. Like you belong to do something more.” Henry was a deer in headlights, staring blankly at him. “Has your life ever seemed… simple, to you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “I don’t – well, yes. Yes.”

Pierce leaned back in his seat, seemingly satisfied with his answer. It reminded Henry of sitting in a psychologist’s office, the quiet classical music, overstuffed grey couch and the silent, pitying demeanor of the doctor sitting in judgment. Reading him inside and out. Someone studying him so intently, as if he knew, he knew what he did, he knew about Marian. Henry found it hard to breathe.

Only fifteen minutes, he mentally recited as he glanced at the clock. Pierce followed his gaze. “Sorry to bore you,” he said. His tone sounded light but his eyes remained hard. Henry quickly met his eyes. Something told him that angering this man would be the wrong call, and a quiet alarm sounded in the back of his mind. Paranoia had taken hold; this was a salesman. Granted, cursed with weird vibes and odd ideas, but only a salesman. His heart rate slowed. 

“Sorry, er – continue.”

Pierce looked at him a moment and adjusted how he sat. “Your life is perfect, sir: nice house, good neighborhood, but there’s something bothering you, isn’t there? Something not quite right. You need more, you want… more. Something to be remembered by, something not so cookie-cutter perfect, right?”

“That’s the truth,” Henry muttered as he shot a glance towards where Marian’s remains lay in the opposite room, a glance not overlooked by Pierce. “Every day it’s the same thing, you know? Like – I wake up every morning, and I sleep each night. I’m not actually… alive. I want to be.” The words spilled from his lips with an ease he hadn’t anticipated. Pierce’s intrigue had been caught; not enough to block out his thoughts as Henry rambled onward, the musings of an insane man.

When the screams echoed through Pierce’s head, he cleared his throat, and pressed his fingertips together as he leaned forward. Ten minutes, and Pierce himself, keeping the façade of being at ease, was finding himself getting agitated.

“Sir, are you waiting for something?” He waited for a response, noting the way Henry’s dark eyes locked onto his own, could practically feel his fear, radiating off of him in waves. Henry remained speechless, wet his lips, and then shook his head no. “Your energy, sir… when I said it’s not like what I’ve seen before, I meant it. You are a desperate man; someone who has done something truly unspeakable.”

The dazed look remained on Henry’s dace, and Pierce sighed. Seven, six minutes now – very close.

“Look, I’m going to stop beating around the bush. Henry, I know what you did.”

Silence, save for his heart, beating too fast, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. “H-How – “

“I talked to Marian. Or, rather,” Pierce mused, tilting his head to the side and giving him a conspiratorial look, “I heard her call out. You slashed her throat, didn’t you? You didn’t realize there would be so much… blood.” Pierce faked a sympathetic look while clicking his tongue. “Henry, I have a very special skill that’s proven itself again and again. The instant I stepped inside I could tell what happened.” He raised his eyes to gauge Henry’s expression, the pale waxy face and startled breathing. Good.

The floor dipped under his feet as Henry remained captivated by deadly eyes. “No,” he choked, Marian racing through his mind, God, he was losing his mind, where was the man on the phone – where was his savior? “N-no, I didn’t--!”

“You murdered her in cold blood.” Pierce’s calm tone turned darker. With a blink of an eye he was not the same collected salesman with a bright smile and cheery disposition. “There was blood all over your guest room and you panicked, you dropped the knife in her hand and hid her body, already cold. She had been screaming, and I bet you can still hear it, can’t you? You will never stop hearing that gut-wrenching sound, and that’s all you deserve.” Pierce stood, casually, body calm but his tone laced with poison that dug itself straight into Henry’s heart. “You think your suburban paradise is Hell, Henry – you haven’t seen anything.”

“What – h-how did you – “

“Henry, do I need to spell it out for you? I’m a psychic.”

“I-I need you to leave.” Henry was on his feet before he knew it, unable to tear his eyes away from Pierce. His skin was crawling, eating him alive. Pierce just watched him, a judge, jury and executioner in Henry’s own tainted home. Only three minutes, only three minutes.

Pierce rose to his feet, fixing his sleeves. Henry stood panting, a man unraveled, and Pierce eyed him as Henry raked his fingers through messy brown hair.  
“Of course. My apologies, sir.” He stepped soundlessly past him, gave him a fleeting look, and was gone.

Henry resumed pacing his track into the floor, breathing too heavily, breathing too fast, too deeply – and he needed an out. Only three minutes, then only two, he was almost free. 

He was almost free.

A shaky sob left his mouth and he struggled to cover himself. 

Henry and Marian Aaronson-Ives had been happy, too happy, and that had been the problem. Every night she cooked dinner, steak and potatoes; they stuck like glue in his throat between sips of tasteless wine and words of forgotten dreams. Every day it was “wake up, dear, time to go to your nine-to-five”, and Henry sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floorboards and wondering what would the difference be if he didn’t exist at all. Every time he looked into Marian’s weathered face, when she told him she loved him, and he recited the scripture back at her. 

He lived in a perfect world, untouched, tethered to the illusion of the American dream, trapped with no escape. He did it to be free; free of the lies, free of false freedom with no escape. He could finally start to live with nothing to hold him back, nothing to keep him down. 

A knock at the door and he rushed to answer, gasping faster than he could handle, ripping the door open and near off its hinges. “Yes?” he said breathlessly, eyes widening, because finally his nightmare was done with. 

“Sorry.” Isaiah Pierce smiled as he cocked his head and the gun in his hand. “Forgot something.”

The gunshot echoed throughout the small suburban neighborhood, and then all was silent. 

Pierce let his card drift to the bloodied floor and examined the remains of the body; Henry Aaronson, torn apart and shattered. A man who was undone, a man in ruins.  
His watch beeped – out of time, mission accomplished -- and Isaiah Pierce left, silent as the grave.


End file.
